I felt horribly exposed in this position, and a faint twinge of worry started to work itself into my head.
“I must say, Abigail,” he said, and his tone did nothing to alleviate the worry. “I’m rather disappointed.” He bent down and stroked me. “I thought I made myself clear on your responsibility to wax.”
I didn’t move. “I have an appointment with my waxer on Tuesday, Master.”
“Tuesday is no good when it’s Sunday and you haven’t prepared yourself for me.”
“It’s a weekend off,” I said, suddenly worried. I’d known I needed to be waxed, but I’d thought I was perfectly within bounds to wait until after the wedding. “And I didn’t have time—”
“Are you arguing with me?”
The inspection position was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. “No, Master,” I said. “I’m simply explaining—”
“You’re talking back. In my playroom.”
If he’d just let me explain.
“I’m not talking back,” I said. “I’m trying to explain—”
“I don’t want explanations, Abigail,” he said, cutting me off again. “I want obedience.”
Oh, hell.
“Go back to your waiting position,” he said. When I’d done so, he continued. “I told you, and you agreed, that you would be waxed as often as possible. You should have waxed last week, simply because you are to be prepared for me at any time. You asked to play today. I would have thought you to be fully prepared.”
Okay, he actually had a point.
“And,” he said, “if you can ask to play, I can ask to play, and if I ask on a Wednesday, I expect you to be ready. Now, being a Wednesday, you can turn me down, but I wouldn’t think you would do so often. After all, I didn’t turn you down today, did I?”
“No, Master.”
“Second,” he continued. “You are never to talk back, argue, or be belligerent in my playroom. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “But I—”
“Fucking hell. Are you doing it again?”
I held completely still and didn’t say anything. Fucking hell, indeed. What had I done?
He walked around me, and I knew he was thinking. Thinking about how to punish me.
“You wanted to play today,” he said. “You asked for this and you are not prepared. Not in body, or it seems, in mind. Therefore, you will not be allowed to climax at all today.”
That didn’t seem too bad. After all, in an hour or so, the collar would come off. Surely I could hold out until then, and if need be, finish myself a bit later.
“Matter of fact,” he said. “You are not to climax again until I grant you explicit permission.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. At all.
“Stand up,” he said, and I scrambled to my feet. “To whom does this body belong?” he asked, gripping my shoulder.
“To you, Master.”
His hands ran down to cup me. “And these breasts?” He stroked between my legs. “And this pussy?” He gave my backside a firm slap. “This ass?”
“All yours, Master.”
“Who controls your orgasms?” he asked. “Decides if you deserve one?”
“You, Master,” I said, my voice soft.
“Speak louder.”
“You, Master,” I said, with more force.
“No climax until I permit one,” he repeated. “If you’re lucky, I won’t make you wait until Friday night.”
Friday night? Was he serious? Five fucking days?
“Do you understand, Abigail?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
In that second, I wished he’d just told me to move to the whipping bench. At least a spanking would be over and done with. This punishment of no release . . . well, that was punishment of a different sort.
“Look at me,” he said.
I lifted my eyes and met his. His gaze was still intense and took my breath away. His disappointment didn’t hide that.
“Now that we have taken care of that,” he said, “I believe we still have the matter of what I said would happen when I had you in here next.”
Finally.
“Move to the cross, Abigail. Face it and do it quickly. I expect no more slipups today.”
Neither did I. If he had to spank me on top of not allowing me to climax . . .
I walked over to the cross and stood before it. It was nothing more than a big X with cuffs at either end for wrists and ankles.
He walked up behind me and took my left wrist, cuffing it to the cross. Then he took my other hand and attached it to the other side, leaving me in a half spread-eagle, my arms pulled high and wide.
My heart pounded as he took my hips and moved me a step away from the cross so I was slightly bent.
He nudged my feet apart. “Stay like this and I won’t bind your ankles. Move an inch and I’ll use the lower cuffs.”
I was damn sure not going to do anything else to provoke him.
“Lift your ass to me,” he said.
When I was properly positioned, he stroked my backside a few times, then smacked it with hard and fast slaps.
Fuck, it was going to be a long afternoon.
Scratch that. It was going to be a long five days.
“Focus, Abigail.”
I turned my attention to him, to what he was doing and how it felt. As always, his spankings left me needy and wanting. I resisted the urge to lift my butt to him. Instead I focused on the sensation coursing through my body, how the slight pain radiated throughout and combined right between my legs.
Something else trailed around my backside: the rabbit fur flogger. He worked it fast, unlike before, when he’d used soft, slow strokes. Nothing painful, just light brushing strokes interspersed with an occasional smack from his hand. I tried to determine a rhythm, but couldn’t do it. There was no reasoning to what struck me or when, so I eventually stopped trying to find a pattern and just felt.
I jumped slightly when something different hit. It was a bit harder, landing on my left ass cheek with a hard thump.
“Suede,” he said. The flogger hit again. “Are you okay?”
It felt good, different from the fur, but not as hard as the leather strap.
“Yes, Master.”
He alternated for a time, switching from my backside to my thighs. Again, I tried to find a rhythm, but quickly gave up. The heat from below my waist grew exponentially stronger, and it took all my focus not to bring my legs together for friction.
A long finger slipped between my legs. “How wet you are,” he said. “Imagine how good it would feel to have me inside you now. How full.”
I know, I wanted to shout. I know. Please.
Then something was inside me, and I let out a squeak when I realized it was one of his vibrators.
“Just a taste,” he said. “Not too much. Bratty submissives don’t get to release.”
He slid the vibrator in and out of me a few times, and it took all my strength not to give in to the need to orgasm.
“Please, Master?” I finally begged when it became too much.
“No,” he said, sliding it from my body. I knew then why he’d bound my wrists: I was so overwhelmed by sensation, I’d probably collapse if he hadn’t.
But he wasn’t finished.
He started back with the suede flogger, and my skin was even more sensitive for this second round. It felt as though all my nerve endings were in overdrive, standing at attention, waiting for the thud to hit again. I moaned when it did.
“Are you still okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said. The flogger hit right where my legs met. “Oh, yes.” I groaned as the pain struck and subsided into pleasure over and over.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed. I turned my reflection inward, wanting only him, focusing only on him and what he was doing to me. Only he knew how to do this to me. Only he could play me the way he did. Could create such a dichotomy of feelings in me.